The next morning, Jainal stood in line at the logistics sorting point at the western gate of Thural.
Strapped to his back was a large sack filled with scrap metal and discarded magitek cables.
He had disguised himself as a scavenger—one of hundreds of freelance workers surviving off the debris of war and the ruins of lost technology.
His face was wrapped in a dusty cloth, his cloak replaced by a rough worker's vest.
In the underworld, the best information couldn't be bought with gold—it had to be earned through patience, time, and careful disguise.
> "Scavengers, send them to the east depot. Metal traders, west.
No work permit? Move along."
The magitek-armed soldier at the checkpoint looked tired.
He wasn't hunting enemies—just keeping order.
But Jainal saw it differently: a manufactured order, built to keep the people quiet, submissive, and resigned.
---
Inside the western warehouse, workers were busy sorting through piles of broken machinery, damaged weapons, even shattered magitek armor.
Jainal approached a thin, older man heating a metal plate with a small conjured flame.
> "Do items from outside the city end up here too?" Jainal asked.
"From anywhere, kid. From battlefields, dead villages, ruined bases.
As long as there's no corpse attached, it's all sellable."
Jainal helped without asking more questions, observing silently.
In one corner, he spotted large crates marked with the sigil of the Seven Wheels—a so-called neutral trade guild known to have hands in every part of the conflict.
The crates were guarded—not by official troops, but by mercenaries.
> "That guild... merchants or mercenary middlemen?" Jainal wondered to himself.
---
As the sun dipped low, he slipped behind the warehouse, sneaking through a service corridor that led to the data room.
There, he found the shipping board—routes, destinations, and codes.
Locations were listed: Thural – Eastern Mountains, Thural – Felkas City, Thural – Karsel (crossed out in red ink).
Several notes underneath caught his attention:
> "High Priority – coolant compound – Class S – do not inspect."
"Transfer to primary laboratory. Direct route only. Certified couriers only."
Jainal burned the details into his memory.
If he wanted to find out who burned Karsel, he had to follow the flow of goods.
And to do that, he would have to infiltrate deeper—not just into warehouses, but into the system itself.
---
That night, he returned to the monastery.
The child greeted him in silence, but sat closer than usual.
They shared a bowl of warm porridge without a word, then huddled beneath a thin blanket under the soft glow of a small lantern.
> "We don't have a home," Jainal whispered.
"But as long as we're alive, we can still choose where our steps lead."
The child didn't speak.
But he nodded—slowly, uncertainly… but aware.